Irregular Bounce
by The Exile
Summary: A backstory for Despotic Arsene. Contains spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

Arsene dreamt:

 _Snow fell all around him. A howling blizzard engulfed him, filling his vision with angry phantoms of swirling white and threatening to pitch him off the narrow, treacherous cliffside path to his doom, several hundred feet below him, his blood staining the pure white of the tundra. He dimly recollected having walked for hours now. It was a false memory, as he had only just fallen into a dream, but time never made sense in dreams. Still, his mottled grey and white fur was plastered down, giving him a rather undignified bedraggled appearance. Bunnits were not built for climates like this, especially Bunnias, who were marsh Bunnits, and he couldn't think of a sensible reason why he was here at all. His joints ached from hopping without rest, and from gripping his spiked club, a vicious businesslike weapon rather than his ceremonial mace, in the large hand that grew from the end of his tail. His long ears, through drooping at the tips due to his discomfort, were erect and alert from the tiniest sound that could indicate one of the many large predators that lived in the snow-covered mountains and, though it probably wouldn't know what a Bunnit was, might guess that it was edible. Making out any sound or spotting any movement over the relentless gale was a virtual impossibility to any but the most keen-sensed of Bunnits. His sense of smell was completely useless, as everything just smelled of cold. However, it wasn't exactly difficult to spot the towering figures that awaited him at the peak._

 _Giants, with gorilla-like frames, beetling brows and ferocious maws bristling with sharp fangs, their foreheads ending in two jutting curved horns. Crystalline growths, or possibly worn ornaments, had camouflaged them when they stood still in a circle, waiting, obviously having spot Arsene from a lot further away than he had noticed them. They muttered to each other in low rumbling whispers that sounded like tiny avalanches. After a few seconds, the largest of them by a significant margin walked towards him. The Bunnit did not back down. His gaze never wavering, glaring up at the giant creature in clear indication that he considered them equals, he loped forwards._

 _As his eyes met those of the Slobos, Arsene caught a glimpse of the elaborately carved stone tower ahead of him, the goal of his expedition all along…_

Then his danger sense woke him up, flashing red light cascading into his vision, accompanied by a general atmosphere of urgency that sent a bolt of energy through his mind. He uncurled and grabbed his mace in one smooth, practiced movement, springing upwards and bringing the weapon down over his head in an arc. His attacker yelped and rolled backwards, his own club sent skittering out of his tail-hand by the force of the unexpected blow.

"Got you, you honourless assassin!" screeched Arsene, "Did you really think you could murder me in my bed?"

"I'm happy to take you face to face!" hissed the other Bunnit. By his voice and the style of club he used, Arsene quickly identified himself as a Bunnit proper, then narrowed down the mental list of Bunnits he knew the names of, and were therefore important enough in Bunnit society to be in a position to challenge him, until he finally remembered who his assailant was.

"Rhangrot!" he growled, "I should have known it would be you, using such dirty tactics! Take your weapon back, then, and let's have at you – I've always wanted an excuse to deal with your endless petty treachery for good!"

Arsene was fairly confident he could defeat Rhangrot in a straight fight. Persistent and enthusiastic though he was, the other Bunnit was smaller, weaker and less ambitious, as well as being laughably easy to predict the moves of. True, Arsene was unusually gifted in this area, to the point that a small cult was growing around him among his more superstitious vassals. Even as they paced around the brightly decorated confines of the Imperial bedchamber, watching and waiting for the first sign of movement, Arsene's vision flared with tinges of blue light, through which he could see vague images of things that hadn't happened yet, the ghosts of the future. The warm, dark burrow under the hill next to the Nopon Refuge was a little cramped for a fight, to the extent that they were forced to glance around them every now and then to avoid tripping on a cushion, getting wrapped up in a wall hanging or knocking over one of the ether lamps and releasing its motes of light into the air, a scenario that would inconvenience both of them and alert the guards. Arsene would rather the idiot Bunnit had sent him an official challenge so they could fight formally in an arena. Even if Rhangrot did somehow manage to defeat him, the other Bunnits would be far more likely to accept his leadership if he had proven his strength in an open, fair fight than if he used his cunning to assassinate a rival. There was only one reason to sneak up on him: Rhangrot wasn't really confident he could defeat Arsene, and he was aware that the Bunnia would demand a fight to the death in the arena, whereas he had some kind of plan to escape this chamber.

As Arsene had predicted, Rhangrot aimed a vicious swipe at his tail, trying to disarm him knock him off-balance. The Bunnia sidestepped his opponent, hopped into the air and smacked Rhangrot squarely on the head. The would-be assassin yelped, launched a pillow at Arsene's face, then darted into the pile of soft rugs and silk cushions that served as a lounging area. He must have burrowed a hole down there, somehow avoiding notice for the weeks it probably took. The pillow had a tear in it, strategically placed to be hidden from casual notice but to explode into a cloud of Quadwing down feathers upon impact, giving Rhangrot the few seconds he needed to disappear. Spluttering, Arsene shook the feathers out of his ears and mouth, then immediately dove into the hole in pursuit. He silently cursed his moronic servants and guards, none of whom could apparently notice trivial things such as assassination attempts. He made a mental note to sniff his food carefully before eating it in future. Not that he didn't already have to constantly defend himself from harm at the hands of other dominant Bunnits, Bunnias and Bunnivs. It was a staple of life as an heir to the Imperium of Bunnitkind.

The tunnel branched out into around ten more paths and he soon realised that the place was a tangled subterranean maze. He suddenly felt very vulnerable. It might not have been created entirely by Rhangrot – all Bunnits enjoyed burrowing – but this was an environment that the enemy was a lot more familiar with than Arsene. Maybe I should just find a new home, he thought to himself, one entirely designed by me, and therefore properly fortified. As he fell almost automatically into the repetitive tasks of memorising his route, so as not to get horribly lost in the near identical passageways, while staying alert for Rhangrot's possible ambush, he felt his thoughts drifting back to the dream he had been woken from.

It wasn't just a normal dream. He was sure of that. Even more so than most Imperial heirs, Arsene was aware of the deeper connection he had to the Bionis and the spiritual gifts it gave him, as well as just making him a stronger Bunnit in general. Visions, prophetic dreams, were nothing new to him and he recognised the signs straight away. This one had been particularly obvious. The dream's emotions and sensations unusually vivid, his awareness was lucid but the dream's narrative absolutely forbade him to diverge from the path it intended to show him. The scenario was unrealistic – he would never voluntarily go to Valak Mountain, get his fur soaked or encourage things twenty times his size to eat him – but it made much more sense than most dream logic, never too ludicrous to be logically possible, and it seemed as familiar as a memory, somehow feeling right and even important.

The fact that it had involved giants set his fur on end. The three species of giants – Gogol, Slobos and Orluga – were constant problems for the much smaller Bunnit races. While they mostly showed no interest in deliberately attacking the Bunnits as long as their territory was not invaded, their constant warring with the Arachno race overflowed into the affairs of every other sentient race on the Bionis. They also ate a tremendous amount and had a devastating impact on their environment compared to everyone else. It had long been on the agenda of the Imperial family to send an army to put the clumsy giants in their place and remind them that others lived on the Bionis as well. The Bunnits were the superior race of the Bionis so it was their duty, as well as their right, to put the giants in their place.

That still didn't really explain why Arsene had to go to Valak Mountain, though. Plenty of Sloboses lived right here in Satorl Marsh, there were Gogols in Tephra Cave and on the Bionis' Leg and, if it was really necessary to talk to Orluga, they could go to Makna Forest. In other words, more civilised, warmer places where Bunnits were meant to live.

He couldn't answer this question by himself, he realised. He needed to consult an older, wiser Bunnit, one of the spiritually gifted elders who no longer participated in Bunnit politics and instead focussed on less corporeal pursuits, someone who could be trusted with sensitive information that could potentially be used against him.

Arsene knew just the person. Sniffing and brushing his whiskers against the tunnel to double-check his relative location, he determined the quickest route to the innermost depths of Tephra Cave. The tunnels weren't going there, so he began to burrow his own.


	2. Chapter 2

Bunnitzol was annoyed to find his solitude and order interrupted by the sound of his neighbour Patrichev the Miner screaming and running for his life from a furious visitor, who hissed at him and repeatedly smacked him across the ears with a mace. He had been busy archiving some of his older scrolls that he no longer needed to refer to, making a careful inventory of which ones had been stashed away so nothing important got lost, when a particularly loud yelp from Patrichev made him spill his inkwell and almost knock his candle over. The large brown-furred Bunniv made enough noise on the best of days, with his constant tunnelling and chipping away at the cave walls until the venerable Judge was worried that the idiot would collapse the whole tunnel on their heads.

"Traitor! I knew it was you in league with Rhangrot all along!" screeched Arsene.

"You are mistaken! I am but a simple miner!" protested Patrichev.

"Which means you're the only person who can dig tunnels that quickly, and that you'd do just about anything for a good enough price," replied Arsene, "How long have you been plotting this? Where is Rhangrot hiding? Confess or die!"

The old Bunniv flattened his ears and bared his teeth. He had taken just about enough of this nonsense from the youths. Flinging the door open, he thumped the massive gavel in his tail-hand on the wall until the two of them stopped fighting for long enough to notice him. Grey and rather scraggly his fur might be, but he was still a large, powerful Bunniv who could hold his own in a making loud noises competition.

"No making a mess outside my doorway!" he ordered, "Someone could slip on that and break their hip! Or worse, get their papers messy! Do you know how much I can sue you for I fall?"

"It was his fault! He jumped out of a hole and attacked me!" Patrichev pointed to Arsene with his own hand-tail tool, a pickaxe.

"It was his hole," said the Bunnia.

"No more holes near my cave. I warned you about that," said Bunnitzol, "Arsene, whatever are you doing all the way over here?"

"I need your advice, to be honest. I'm glad I caught you," said Arsene. As soon as he took his eyes off the miner Bunniv, Patrichev bolted down the corridor, muttering colourful expletives.

"Well, come in, if you promise not to pick a fight. This here's neutral territory."

"Not when certain people around here aren't respecting the treaty, it isn't, but I'll keep the peace for now, out of respect for you," said Arsene. Bunnitzol rolled his eyes and waved the arrogant Bunnia in anyway.

His cave was small but well-lit. Most of the surfaces were covered in scrolls, pens and mathematical tools. Drawers and shelves were stuffed with carefully filed stacks of scrolls. Next to a comfortable-looking nest were the remains of a large breakfast and an urn of very strong-smelling, pure black coffee. The old Bunniv immediately hopped back onto his stool and picked up the coffee in his tail-hand, letting the sharp taste and the flow of warm liquid energy focus his distracted mind.

"You need help with Rhangrot?" he guessed. Most of Bunnitzol's writings were on legal matters and he was the go-to Bunnit for any issues regarding a dispute with another Bunnit that couldn't be resolved by challenging them to a duel or ignoring them.

"Something a little further afield, actually," said Arsene, "I'm hoping you might at least know something, though."

Bunnitzol's ears pricked up. It wasn't unknown to ask him about a matter outside his field of expertise. As a scholarly Bunnit, he tried to keep up to date with the basics on a range of topics, especially relating to Bunnit society in general. He had also traveled all around the Bionis when he was younger and rumours even claimed that he had visited the Mechonis. This was nonsense, of course, but he had met some Mechons on the Bionis and had a few contacts within their ranks who at least wouldn't shoot him on sight.

"Did you have another vision?" he guessed. The last time Arsene visited him with a problem, it had been about another prophetic dream, one that had predicted a swamp fire started by a drunk Nopon that could have wiped out the entire Satorl stronghold if had not been pre-empted.

Arsene nodded and described his dream-vision. Bunnitzol nodded thoughtfully, "Valak Mountain, eh? I knew something was stirring up there."

"Why would I have reason to go there, and to battle giants, of all people?"

"Maybe it's the Bionis' way of telling us that it's about time we dealt with the giant problem for good, one way or another," said Bunnitzol, "There are big giants up on the Mountain, you know. Well, all giants are big, that's why they're called giants, but these ones make the others look like runts. I think they're the leaders, or something. I wouldn't know, I've never got a civilised conversation out of a giant. Are you sure you're going to battle them, by the way?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because the mountain giants are terrifying and it's a stupid idea to try and fight them, especially alone, and on their own territory which is hostile to Bunnits. And because the dream said nothing about the spiders. If you were just going to wipe out the threat, the spiders are the bigger threat. The giants at least can be reasoned with in theory, and they might even calm down of their own accord if the spiders stopped attacking them. If you're heading to the giants first, it's probably to negotiate an alliance."

"But you just said you couldn't get a civilised word out of one."

"I didn't say it would be easy. It just makes a lot more sense than getting yourself killed trying to fight one."

"The Bunnits have never been forced to make an alliance with another species. It would be contrary to our nature as the superior beings of the Bionis," said Arsene. Then, in a whisper, "I agree with you that it sounds the more sensible option, but it would be never be allowed. Even if the Court didn't outright forbid it, I'd have to deal with challenges to my right to rule and attempts on my life from all sides for the rest of my life."

"Doesn't sound too different to your life now," Bunnitzol pointed out, scratching behind his ear with his tail-hand.

"Oh, those aren't serious threats to my life. It's much worse if you've actually done something to disgrace yourself. They're just being murderous on general principle. Except Rhangrot. There's something seriously twisted about his mind."

"If you say so. I'm no healer," he snorted, "Well, that's my advice. I'd act sooner rather than later if I were you. It'll be winter soon and you don't want to be up on the mountain when the blizzards start. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Arsene shook his head, "That'll be all, thank you. You've been very useful..."

Suddenly, the Bunnia froze. His ears pricked straight up and his nose twitched. His eyes glazed over with a faraway look.

"What is it?" demanded Bunnitzol. There was no response. Arsene may as well have been a statue of an already dead Emperor. Another vision, the Judge realised, chittering his teeth in irritation. Now he would never get the annoying visitor to go away.

 _Patrichev was still running. By the looks of his surroundings, a particularly wide cavern full of dormant, lazy Caterpiles, he had fled all the way to the entrance to Tephra Cave. His eyes were wide with fear and his fur was covered in soil and dust. Cruel satisfaction filled Arsene at the thought of his enemy fleeing in terror before him, abandoning all dignity, but he kept himself composed and watchful. His visions didn't come to tell him of something so mundane as another Bunnit running somewhere._

 _Patrichev's eyes were focused somewhere else and his eyes widened, the fear on his features contorting into an almost insane panic. He was looking straight ahead, his neck craning to watch something above him, or maybe something much bigger than him, something that came inexorably closer to him._

 _The brown-haired Bunniv bared his teeth and tightly gripped his pickaxe in preparation for a hopeless last stand. Arsene saw the glowing blue arc of the blade, then the blood welling up to mix with the pool of water that had slowly trickled down from the ceiling. The blue blade of light..._ a pounding headache hit him as he broke off suddenly from the vision.

"Patrichev... Patrichev is dead," he hissed, his breath coming out in strangled gasps, "The threat. It's coming towards us."

"What threat?"

"The blue blade..."

"A blue blade? Wielded by a Homs?" Bunnitzol demanded. Arsene nodded.

"Run," ordered the old Judge, "Go back through the tunnels. I'm collapsing the main entrance to the inner caves. I don't think Homs can get in through the tunnels. Warn the others about the invaders. And, please... if you're going on that quest of yours, get a move on with it. The situation's just changed. I'm going to get myself killed for saying things like this one of these days, but I don't think we can handle this on our own."


	3. Chapter 3

His announcement went about as well as Bunnitzol had warned him it would.

It was Rhangrot who led the hecklers, a fact that didn't surprise him in the least. The Bunnit looked out for any opportunity to attack Arsene and he probably saw this as the perfect chance he had always dreamt of. An angry mob had already formed around Rhangrot, joined by both the old Bunnits who were stuck in their ways and younger, idealistic Bunnits. Both saw Arsene as an insult to Bunnitdom and the eventual downfall of their entire Empire.

"You think the Empire of Bunnitdom is so weak, that you claim everything on the Bionis is a threat to us?" he hissed through long, sharp canines. Rhangrot did not look all that different to Arsene, except for being smaller and having slightly more white fur and less grey. Arsene suspected that some of the spectators gathered around the Glowing Obelisk weren't even sure which was which, as they roared and stamped with passion indiscriminately at everything that was said, as long as it sounded vaguely important or enthusiastically spoken.

"First you insist that a Homs - a stupid, slow, soft-toothed Homs - is such a danger to us that we must hide away in fear and barricade ourselves into our tunnels. You have the nerve to demand this of an Elder," continued Rhangrot, causing Arsene to wince at the way he altered the facts until they barely resembled the truth, "And then you go on to suggest we prostrate ourselves before the Giants!"

"I do not prostrate myself before anyone. I intend to negotiate an alliance between equals," said Arsene.

"As if we can't fight our own battles! We should be crushing both sides!"

"And yet we don't. Because we can't," said Arsene, "There is a difference between bravery and being completely delusional. This is why you will never rule. I have foresight, whereas you cannot even accept the reality that stares you in the face. We have been slowly losing ground to the warring Giants and Spiders for years now, and as for the Homs with the blue blade... something is very wrong with him. Something beyond the normal scope of things. The Bionis itself has revealed it to me."

Awed whispers rippled through the crowd. Visions of the future, proof of genuine deep connection to the Bionis and therefore right to rule, were something that they respected just as much as, maybe even more than the pride of the Bunnit species. Accusing Rhangrot of insanity had been a good move, too, as the insults would be seen as Arsene standing up for himself against the accusations of cowardice.

"You are the insane one. Quite apart from your lack of understanding of what it means to be a Bunnit, you will never survive the journey you wish to set out on. You will receive no help. We cannot waste resources on your suicide march."

"Fine, then. I don't need any help. I can hunt for myself," said Arsene, "This quest was given to me alone, after all. You say I am not worthy to call myself a Bunnit, yet you are too afraid to even consider braving the Mountain. There are giants on the Mountain too, so how do you plan on fighting them if you won't go into their territory?"

"They can stay there, for all we care. We'll drive them out of our lands soon!"

"So you say, and yet you don't. If you won't do something about the situation, it falls to me," said Arsene, "Not that any of the people gathered here would truly support you. Bunnits are too wise to take orders from lunatics."

Finally, Arsene dismissively turned away from his rival and addressed the crowd gathered below him, milling all around the ledges on the sides of the Obelisk.

"Citizens of the Bunnit Empire, do not let this madman lead you to your deaths," he said, "Do not ignore the threat of the blue blade. It has already taken the life of a strong, if foolish, Bunnit, and it will shed more blood before the night is over. Maybe that of the Bionis itself."

An older Bunnit gasped at the dangerous, ominous words. Arsene did not acknowledge him, but thumped his mace against his podium, then clambered down off his platform to the swamp bed. The mist was rising again. Night was falling early.

The next morning, the Court decreed that they would not try to stop Arsene leaving on his quest but neither would they aid him. He was to make his own way to Valak Mountain and prove that his quest was genuine, that he was truly the one chosen to make the journey. He wished the confidence he pretended to have in himself was more than a political move. He wished he really believed that he would survive the journey up to the highest peaks of the snow-covered mountain. Now that he had made such a huge boast in front of everyone, there was no going back.

Besides, he wasn't even sure if he wanted to be in the same region of the Bionis as the Homs with enough fire in his eyes and in his blade to burn down the Bionis.

* * *

As he hopped his way through Makna Forest, Arsene saw that the situation was just as bad there.

Bunnits didn't generally go through the jungle that was Makna Forest, except as a ritual test of strength. As well as several tribes of Orlugas, the rainforest was full of monstrous lizard-like creatures even larger than giants that could swallow a Bunnit in one gulp, other creatures somewhere between lizards and birds that could swoop unsuspected upon their prey, and worst of all, an entire settlement of those most voracious, relentless predators, the Nopon. No Bunnit would admit to being afraid of Makna Forest's fauna and they made endless plans to advance into the region at some nebulous point in the future but then put it off, blaming it on the hazardous terrain, full of sudden steep drops into raging currents, and the temperamental weather.

Arsene took a path through the trees, using his tail-hand to swing from bough to bough and land on the larger branches with one huge bound, his agile, padded feet landing him safely and quietly, ready to pick up a hefty stick and smack an unsuspecting Quadwing off its perch before it decided he was food. From his vantage point, he saw the Orlugas move in large numbers towards the caves on the opposite end of the Forest from their usual settlements near the edge of the Bionis, where deep crevasses had formed, possibly some kind of skin condition that the world-Titan had developed. The giants adapted to the jungle had muddy green skin, often with darker green stripes, were hunched over with flattened faces and overdeveloped forearms. Many of them wore masks of different kinds, often decorated with horns from the skulls of other creatures. Arsene had no idea what the significance of these were. They travelled with smaller creatures who shared some sort of symbiotic relationship, often riding on their back or even giving orders to the less intelligent giants. These Hodes were organising them into tactical units but when they actually met the enemy, the giant ants and spiders who poured out of the caves, mandibles clacking and teeth hissing, all semblance of order tended to fall apart. Bellowing in fury, the Orlugas charged towards their enemies, often losing or even trampling their riders, attempting to crush the insectoid creatures with their leather-reinforced fists or ram them with the horns on their masks. The Arachnos and Antols were an endless swarm, their deadly efficiency more like a single machine than an opposing army. The battle raged on for hours while Arsene watched, checking that none of the fighting came too close to his location as he crept along the branches. The savagery of the Orlugas and cold butchery of the Arachnos was such that the encampment of Nopon merchants that Arsene spotted on the cliff above him didn't even once try to sneak down and profit from, or eat, the casualties on either side. Blood both red and green ran down the rocks and into the fast-running stream before being lost in the great waterfall that dominated the Makna landscape. By the time Arsene had reached the bridge that crossed over into the caves near Valak Mountain, where he would no longer be able to hide, the Orlugas had begun a panicked retreat. So, he thought, Bunnitzol is right about that much: the giants are losing.

Crossing the bridge proved nerve-wracking to the Bunnit, who was dwarfed by its vast span, fully aware of the precipitous drop beneath him and deafened by the crashing of the current against the rocks. Ansels, giant birds of prey, circled above him and he even thought he saw one of the huge flying lizard things. He was exposed and out of his element. Don't be such a coward, he scolded himself, it's going to be much worse when you reach Valak Mountain. You vowed you would go there and if you break your word, it would make you no better than Rhangrot, not fit to rule at all!

No less than three Ansels and one particularly high-jumping Piranhax had tried to make a meal of the small, furry creature they saw alone on the bridge, mistakenly believing it to be terrified and vulnerable. Arsene had disabused them of that notion with a broad thorny twig he swung around his head with his tail-hand, screeching and gnashing his teeth at them as he flung their carcasses over the side of the bridge. Fortunately, the Pterix hadn't noticed his display, or had seen it all and decided he was too much like hard work to try and prey on. Relief washed through him as his feet touched more solid ground than the bridge. It had felt rather rickety and swayed too much for his liking. On the other edge of the bridge, his suspicions were confirmed by a small gang of Nopon who were attempting to perform repair work, worried looks on their beady-eye furry faces.

Arsene tried to edge around the dangerous little creatures, maneouvring back into what remained of the long grass that was transitioning into the rocky Valak landscape. A sudden burst of yelling made him freeze, his ears pricking up. Another Nopon had joined the gang and his arrival had caused a great deal of excitement of some kind - Arsene couldn't read Nopon body language all that well. He thought they might be yelling in exasperation and maybe even anger at him as their strange spherical bodies bounced up and down, flapping their almost vestigial head-wings. The newcomer yelled back at them in protest.

As the Bunnit watched the Nopons' antics in faint amusement, he was hit by another of his visions. He saw the Nopon who was being yelled at, except now he was clad in heavy, spiked armour, allowing only his long tufts of ginger hair to poke out, giving him the appearance of a pineapple. In his head-wing that doubled as a hand rather like a Bunnit's tail, he held a weapon that looked like a sharp-toothed mummified frog on top of a throne mounted on a stick. Instead of amusement, Arsene felt only fear and foreboding when he tried to look into the eyes of that Nopon warrior. It was the same fear as he had felt when he saw the Homs with the blue blade of light for the first time.

He bolted up the mountain path, not looking behind him at the startled cries of the hyperactively bouncing Nopon.


	4. Chapter 4

Upon passing the waypoint that identified the boundary between Makna Forest and Valak Mountain, Arsene was immediately greeted by the sight of another Nopon camp. Their expedition was small but well equipped for cold weather survival. Arsene assumed they were some sort of explorers rather than merchants as there were few people to trade with on the Mountain, although he spotted one or two crates of trade goods, brightly coloured woven cloth, wooden carvings and jars full of pollen, among their equipment, just in case they did happen upon a deal. Spotting them did not cause him any painful flashes of insight so he dove into the snow in an attempt to hide from them but otherwise ignored them.

The main path led down into a canyon where the snow soon became thick enough to swallow up a small Bunnit but not tightly packed enough to walk on top of unless you were a Nopon and could hover, although a few Homs had tried trudging through it recently as well. He slowly scaled the rock face instead, smacking a couple of strange flying creatures, with aquatic-looking bodies and beetle-like pincers, who swooped down to try and eat him. By the time he reached Befelgar pedestal, a ledge that connected to a series of natural walkways high above the canyon, Arsene decided that all flying creatures on the Bionis were conspiring to kill him and he should pre-emptively destroy them on sight, probably including Nopon, and he shouldn't trust flying Mechon either until they proved they were innocent.

From his vantage point, Arsene could just make out the spire of Three Sage Peak on the other side of the Mountain, with the ancient stone building carved into the mountain by what could only be the hands of giants. Below it were a series of geysers superheated by a volcanic cave on the lower levels, which were also connected by the giant tube of an extinct volcano that had now frozen into a slippery deathrap. For a Homs who could not climb or jump properly, the route to the Peak would be impossible. At some point when the weather had been particularly cruel, a thick chunk of ice had completely frozen over the only entrance by foot. If he negotiated some of the narrower walkways and made a leap onto the far platform, he would be able to follow the winding tunnels on the other side of the canyon until he reached the spiral path up to the Peak. It would be the most dangerous route possible, though. The walkways were at some points so narrow that even a Bunnia would barely fit his feet on them, with lethal drops on either side. Missing the jump would also mean certain death and it was a formidable distance even for the species on the Bionis most adapted to jumping. There were more of those damned flying things and worst of all, he could see a blizzard rapidly approaching.

He had never expected his quest to be easy. Baring his teeth in defiance, he began loping along the walkway towards Agul Mountain range. A blue-feathered Ansel asleep on its nest wondered why it had been smacked across the head with a stick by a type of creature it had never seen before in its life.

Mercifully, the blizzard hit after he had made the jump. Had he been caught mid-jump in the ferocious whipping winds and the blade-like walls of ice that cut into his flesh, he would have been blown completely off course. As it was, he landed in an indignant pile on the other side of the canyon, soaking wet and bruised but alive. His heart was racing and he felt like he was about to lose his last meal of a Pagul he had hunted through the snow earlier. Leaping through the air, nothing but death below him, had felt a little like he was already dead, his body was so unfettered by dimensions, especially as he had involuntarily held his breath as if it would somehow enable him to stop time at will. At times he came so close to death on those tiny platforms, he forgot he wasn't already dead, as he couldn't see whether he had succeeded or not, there was such a tiny margin between one and the other. Sometimes he forgot which direction he was going, even whether he was heading up or down. The platforms were the bony spines of the Bionis, living, chaotic things, and he thought he heard the world-Titan breathe through the wind. Mirages glimmered in the endless snow below in the brightly gleaming sun that reflected off giant ether crystals to paint golden lights on the white canvas. Arsene's exhausted mind kept mistaking them for visions, then started wondering what was the difference between his visions and these solitary dreams of the Bionis made manifest. The fact that his mind was wandering scared the Bunnia, who knew he would plummet to his death if he moved his feet a fraction of an inch in the wrong direction. Moving slowly, waiting for an opportunity, studying everything closely was even more exhausting than racing, jumping and fighting, though. He was almost relieved to reach the other side, if it wasn't for the blizzard.

The journey across Agul and up the Spire was indistinguishable from his vision, especially as the blizzard raging around him, pain, exhaustion and the strength-sapping cold were reducing his field of vision to vague shifting images in what was otherwise an abyss of white noise. His thoughts had been reduced to a dream-like fugue in which the phantoms whirled among flashes of incoherent memories, primal instincts of hunger and pain, desperate warning signs from his body. That pain, combined with a sensation of movement, told him he was alive. If he was lucky, he was going in the right direction. He didn't think his visions would let him wander from his intended path, his destiny, his duty to the Bionis. He was fully aware that he had already surrendered himself to it, to leave him here to die, to throw him into the void all around him, or to do whatever else it willed. His Bunnit-nature rankled at such an unspeakable thing as surrender but he consoled himself that it had been his choice every step of the way until now. This situation was his own fault. Maybe his destiny, and you couldn't go against destiny.

A familiar sight, the end of the spire, swam into view, and though he no longer believed he would be able to see anything, even a giant, in this blizzard, there it was, looming above him.

Waiting for him.


	5. Chapter 5

Defiant, sharp-toothed, beady-eyed Bunnit faced lumbering, horned, spiked-fisted Slobos, each waiting for the other to move first. Then it occurred to Arsene that he didn't speak Giant, the Slobos probably didn't speak Bunnit, having never met a Bunnit before, and that nobody could hear or see anything through the blizzard anyway. The Slobos seemed to realise the same thing after a few seconds longer. He turned around to his retinue, held up his arm, roared some orders and gestured for them to follow him as he started walking back towards the ancient stone building. He motioned for Arsene to follow and the Bunnit loped along after him, grateful to be allowed out of the cold. He wanted to curl up in a ball, preferably in a pile of cushions or at least a burrow of earth, and sleep until he didn't feel as though he were about to die, but he knew he still couldn't relax. Just because the giants hadn't killed him on sight didn't make them friendly. For all he knew, they might just want somewhere slightly warmer and drier to eat him. He prayed to the Bionis that one half-frozen Bunnit wasn't a considered large or nutritious enough snack.

The door rumbled shut behind them, plunging them into darkness. Arsene realised that it was opening and closing automatically. He wondered briefly what kind of technology, magic or a combination of the two could power such a thing in a bleak, storm-wracked spot in the middle of nowhere. Torches flared up all around the walls, revealing a neatly carved square corridor that would have been quite narrow to a Slobos but had an intimidatingly high ceiling to a Bunnit. The chamber at the end of the corridor was vast, also lit by torches. Sounds from the mountain echoed through the walls, the mournful howling of the wind, water dripping from an unknown source, the chittering and scrabbling of subterranean animals in other caverns close by. At the far end was a gigantic stone chest, or maybe some creature's sarcophagus. In the middle of the chamber was a circular stone table and chairs sized for Sloboses. Marcus bade Arsene sit, then settled down himself.

To his complete astonishment, the Bunnit was not the only person around that table who was not a Slobos.

Bunnits had lived in the same world as a myriad other species as intelligent as themselves for millennia. Although it was obvious to them that Bunnits were the superior species (sometimes there were wars over which was the superior sub-species out of Bunnits, Bunnivs and Bunnias but the fighting never went on that long, as they didn't really like each other's climates enough to invade each other), they were willing to believe that pretty much any new thing they met should be granted the status of a person. There were limits, though, and he had never met a friendly Mechon, ever. On the other hand, he had also never seen a Mechon sit on a chair and had not believed them structurally capable of such an act. True, the old, battered-looking Mechon wasn't really sitting down so much as hovering close to the chair with its leg joints bent a little, leaning on a rifle almost as big as itself for balance, but Arsene hadn't even thought a Mechon could conceive of the notion of sitting peacefully at a table with other species. A black-haired Behemoth also curled itself around one of the tables, spiky tail tucked in as best as it could, reminding Arsene of a sleeping cat, albeit an enormous, ravenous beast of a cat with spikes along its back and tail, a hungry look in the almost invisible eyes on its armoured, horned head. Arsene sat as far away from the Behemoth as possible.

The Slobos growled something at the Mechon, who replied in Slobos, then started beeping and whirring. After a few seconds, he began speaking in Bunnit.

"Translation matrix updated to include Bunnit, Bunnia dialect," he declared, "Greetings, your presence has been cleared by security. My name is Ancient Daedalus. Also present are Final Marcus and Blizzard Belzegaas," he indicated the Slobos and the Behemoth, who didn't both to look up, "Currently absent is the dragon Avalanche Abaasy."

Arsene blinked. He had heard of Abaasy, the Dragon of the Abyss. As far as he knew, the destroyer God was a myth. The firm belief that the Abaasy ought to turn up to their official meetings only reinforced Arsene's belief that these people were utterly insane. No wonder the giants are in turmoil, he thought to himself, if these maniacs are in charge.

Marcus growled something again and the Mechon translated, "Final Marcus apologises for his need for translation. He is attempting to learn Bunnit but the language is very dissimilar to Slobos, so it is taking longer than expected."

"Let me introduce myself in turn. I am Arsene. I am a valid contender for the Imperial Throne of Bunnitdom and therefore authorised to speak for all of Bunnitdom," said the Bunnit, resting his mace on the table to represent his peaceful intention, "You seem to have been expecting me, even though my journey was unannounced. Why is this?"

"You seem to be here, even though you did not know we were expecting your presence. Why is this?" Daedala translated for an amused-looking Marcus. Arsene explained about his visions, hoping that the three strangers would be suitably impressed at his Imperial legacy.

"That is certainly a Unique talent," replied Daedala, apparently translating for Belzegaas this time. The way the Mechon emphasised the word 'Unique', it was clearly a significant word to them somehow, "It sounds like you have some sort of limited access to the Monado. I must try and contact Abaasy, to see if he can verify whether it is truly Monado energy coursing through you. If your claims are true, it could be very useful to us, assuming you could be trusted to work with us against both the Great Threat and any possible threats from the Bionis itself."

Arsene wasn't sure if he wanted to admit he had no idea what a Monado or a Great Threat was, or why anyone would think the Bionis was personally threatening them. The phrases sent a shiver up his spine, though.

"I did not come to join you. I came to inform you that your endless wars with the Arachnos are damaging our lands and disrupting our lives, and asking you to fight elsewhere. If this is not possible, I propose an alliance, so that we may easily crush your enemy, whereupon you must try and live in peace."

This took a while to translate. Marcus' brow suddenly furrowed, his eyes lit up and he bared his teeth in a loud growl. Arsene couldn't tell if he was angry, amused or excited.

"Final Marcus is not sure you understand the meaning of your vision, or are twisting its meaning to fit your own personal political goals," Daedala told him, "He is also not sure if you understand giant politics."

"I understand that you are losing the war," said Arsene bluntly, "We see you fight every day, and we understand well how desperate your situation is. That is why we propose an alliance. Arachno are impossible to negotiate with, and they will overrun us next. The only way to bring peace is an alliance. Bunnits are stronger than their size would indicate, and ferocious in battle, the conquerors of many other species."

"And would you conquer us once the dust settles, and we are still weakened? Would you attempt to conquer the Arachno?" translated Daedala, "No matter. Marcus does not actually lead the giants, in battle or in politics. He has one particular role: that of the Final. You should ask elsewhere about your alliance."

"I risked everything to come to the Mountain, where Bunnits do not go, and I will not go away empty-handed!" Arsene hissed.

"I repeat: you do not understand the meaning of your vision," insisted Daedala.

"Then why was I sent up here so urgently, if not to save my entire species?"

"Our war will not go on too much longer. You have a bigger threat to worry about," Daedala's optical sensors flashed red, "You already know what it is."

"The only thing more disruptive than giants happens to be Mechon, and..." Arsene began, then he stopped mid-tirade of insults, his eyes widening. He suddenly realised what the Slobos had to be talking about. The other visions. They had all featured the same things, and it had terrified the Bunnit a lot more than insane giants and clearly faulty Mechon.

"The Homs. And the Nopon," Arsene whispered, "And the Blue Blade of Death."

"It's called the Monado," Daedala told the Bunnit, "And we call the people in control of the Monado, including the Homs and the Nopon, the Great Threat."

"How can they be such a threat? There are only a small number of them, and everyone knows Homs aren't very dangerous. Are... are there going to be more Nopon?"

"You underestimate the potential of Homs, but that is beside the point. These Homs are a very different matter."

Marcus interrupted the Mechon again, his voice sounding urgent.

"I have just been informed that Abaasy is returning, and has ordered us to wait for him to arrive before we explain things to you. Meeting him is considered the ultimate honour," he told Arsene, "So clean yourself up and dry your fur."


	6. Chapter 6

By the time Abaasy returned, Arsene had cleaned his fur in a basin of clean water kept in a side chamber, then dried himself on a coarse rag. His fur came out embarrassingly frizzy and refused to be combed back down into a sensible style but at least he didn't look like a drowned rat any more, only like a mutated Nopon. The others had disappeared to make their own preparations. Marcus returned in a clean loincloth and set of bracers, much more finely crafted and ceremonial-looking, and he had smoothed down what little hair he had. Belzegaas had also tidied his appearance up, although there wasn't enough time for him to fully wash and dry his ample, thick hair. He had also picked his teeth clean, so that he smelled less of rotting meat. Daedala had polished his armour plates and changed his oil. Evidently, the figure they referred to as 'Abaasy' was a respected and influential person, God of Darkness or no.

First, Arsene heard a roar loud enough to shake the entire mountain. Then Arsene met Abaasy and saw that the odd strangers hadn't been delusional at all. The figure regarding him with dark unblinking reptilian eyes, its long-necked scaly head snaking through the entrance corridor and barely fitting, was a dragon. Arsene had never seen a dragon before and only had a vague idea of what one looked like but this matched everything he had been told. Something deep and primal told him it was true, the same thing that told him to be scared of Belzegaas and that Daedala smelled weird. He could feel Abaasy's spiritual presence, too, in the same way as he could hear the storm still raging all around him. From the sheer waves of dark power emanating from the dragon like a black tsunami, causing Arsene's fur to stick straight up on end and completely destroying his earlier attempts to force it not to, this could only have been a genuine Dragon God.

Abaasy's scales were dark blue, the leathery webbing of his wings and underbelly a dark purple, the colour of midnight and the trees in Satorl Marsh. His broad, stocky body was covered in spikes and ended in four powerful clawed feet. His wings also ended in spiked tips and his head was crowned by several sharp spiny crests. He perched with his tail wrapped around a boulder and stared at the newcomer with feline intensity. At least Arsene didn't feel like prey. Abaasy was obviously far beyond the intelligence level of a beast, maybe of any kind of mortal.

Suddenly, he heard speech directly in his mind, as though they were his own thoughts. He resisted the urge to flinch. The voice was slow and deep.

"I can sense the Monado on you," said the voice that could only have come from the dragon, "Not as a wielder, but as someone who has tapped into it. I was told about you. You have been picking up leakages from the Monado, have you not? Visions. Power you shouldn't have yet."

"I am a Bunnit, and an Emperor-to-be. There is no power I should not have," opined Arsene, "It is true that I have visions, though, and I am curious to know what they are."

"You can speak to me through your thoughts in return, if it is easier," Abaasy advised him, "You have heard of the Monado?"

"I only know that it is a blue blade of light, powerful and very dangerous, and it appears in my visions."

"It is the sword of the Bionis. It can potentially hold all the power of the Bionis," explained Abaasy, "The person who it has been given to, and the fact that it has an intended wielder at all, is what makes it so dangerous, though. The Monado only truly awakens when great changes are going to wrack the world. Both worlds. These changes could be enough to destroy both the Bionis and the Mechonis. And the wielder - one of the eight known as the Great Threat - is a Homs who has been given great power, maybe more than ours. A Homs will not spare us. He will invade our homes and hunt us for sport. Before, even an army of Homs didn't really have the power to wipe us out, but the power of this Homs is very different. The Bionis will not instruct him to leave us alone, either. The Bionis is like a force of nature. It doesn't show any mercy to anyone."

"I saw a Nopon as well," said Arsene, "I always suspected the Nopon would wipe us all out one day."

"The Nopon who is one of the Great Threat is just as dangerous," said Abaasy, "If they are left unchecked, they might one day destroy the world themselves. I'm telling you this because I want you to do something about it, Arsene."

"You want me to battle them?"

"You wouldn't win. And besides, it wouldn't solve the problem. They have a destiny to fulfill right now. Whatever the resolution of their quest, it will bring change and destruction," he said, "I want you to track them down, using your link to the Monado. I want you to warn others when they get too close to a settlement and stop them from wreaking too much havoc, maybe draw them away. Fight them if you must. You won't be able to slay them but you could delay or redirect them. You must learn to understand the nature of their quest as well, and report their progress in the quest back to me."

"This is a worthy mission for a would-be Emperor Bunnit," agreed Arsene, "But you still have not explained why I am having these visions, only where they come from. I am aware that the Imperial line is close to the Bionis, divine beings that we are, but I suspect there is another reason. If you know so much about this Monado, you must also know why I have the visions."

"I'm afraid I do not," said Abaasy, "I only know that the Monado's power should not be leaking like that, or giving power to those other than its intended wielder. It implies something very worrying - that the Monado is faulty in some way. If your family is sensitive to the power in some way, maybe it is genetic, to do with your particular primordial origin within the Bionis or your cells' resemblance to Bionis cells. Maybe you even have a rather unusual power to interact with the world in the same higher dimension as the Bionis. Whatever the case, you have that power, so you need to use it for something practical."

"Why is it you who is asking me, though? Why not the spirit of another Emperor Bunnit, for instance? We Bunnits have our own problems. We aren't supposed to get involved with giants and dragons and Mechon."

"Arsene, you are not only a Bunnit. You are Unique among Bunnits," said Abaasy, "The fellowship you were invited to by Final Marcus tonight is known as the Order of Uniques. All of us have some kind of trait or ability that makes us significantly and noticeably different from others of our species, something that puts us at a much higher power level. The founders and leaders are called the Sages. Marcus recommended to me that you join the Order as a full Sage. That is how vital a link to the Bionis is for our survival."

Arsene considered this. He remembered the way Daedala had said the word 'Unique', the way everyone looked at him when he told them about his talent. The way that the other Bunnits related to him only as a constant threat to their own position in society, to the extent that they were obsessed with taking him out of the picture now before it was too late. He hadn't really considered that they were terrified of him, that they saw someone far above their own power level, even by the standards of a strong Bunnit ruler.

"Why is Marcus in charge and not you?" he asked.

"Because being in charge is a job in itself, a constant responsibility, and I have enough tasks already, a lot of which take me far away from Three Sage Peak. Marcus is a good ruler. He likes to keep everything tidy and organised."

"One day I will rule the entirety of Bunnitdom," said Arsene, "I will also be very busy with the task. Are you not worried that I will have no time to complete my duties to your Order?"

"This is a concern of mine. I hope that the Great Threat will end soon, that the trouble with the Monado will not escalate, but I fear this is wishful thinking and that I secretly know better. However, you are the only one who can perform this task. No other Unique has the ability to channel Monado energy. That is the payoff for being truly Unique - you must use your ability. There is no choice. Otherwise, you cease to be yourself."

"There is a ceremony," Abaasy continued, "Ask Marcus to tell you about it. You need a Unique Name."

Arsene relayed the information and Marcus' eyes lit up. This was clearly his favourite part of his job.

"A Unique's descriptor name always means something special about you, that defines you," explained Marcus, "I am 'Final' because of my role within Giant society. When a tribe of giants is in decline and knows they will soon be no more, they choose someone to be the official last of their race. That person absolutely must survive until the last, no matter who else must die to preserve them, and they are charged with preserving and protecting the most important parts of that tribe's legacy and culture."

"I am 'Ancient' because I am the oldest living Mechon," said Daedala, "And I was created too long ago, lost too long ago, to be under Egil's control."

Arsene had no idea who Egil was but he kept quiet as Blizzard Belzegaas told him his own story, explaining in a low rumbling snarl that his Name originated from his close connection to Valak Mountain, a rather unique region in itself, and the fact that his powers grew much stronger in a blizzard, when the Mountain's rage and might were at their climax. Avalanche Abaasy explained that his Name was purely to do with his power level, so great that it could cause natural disasters if he did more than brush the mundane world with a fraction of it. Arsene could tell that it was no boast.

Then Marcus asked him to choose a Name for himself.

"Emperor Arsene?"

Marcus shook his head, "There are other Emperors. It is not something unique to you and it does not define you."

"Stupid-Looking Fur Arsene?"

Marcus laughed, "I'm afraid that defines almost the entire Nopon race."

"How about something to do with the Monado?"

"That business might end one day. This must be something permanent," said Marcus.

"How about something to do with your personality? Maybe your position as a ruler," suggested Belzegaas with a yawn. He had seen an Apis fluttering behind Abaasy and was clearly waiting for a chance to catch and eat it.

"Unpopular Arsene?"

"What makes you so unpopular?"

"I don't know and I don't care, to be honest," said Arsene, "They're probably all just jealous. Or they have really twisted personalities and are moping because I won't them do anything too utterly depraved or stupid. And because I won't start a war I can't win."

"What do you plan to do as a ruler, then?"

"I'm going to keep those maniacs under control. I'm going to rule with an iron fist, to get Bunnit society properly in order. No informal duels, only real tests of strength, no insubordination by my inferiors, no disrespecting elders or neutral territory. Sensible tactics for a conquering nation, not cowardice or recklessness. And no burrowing allowed anywhere near the Imperial Palace."

"How about Iron-Fisted Arsene?" suggested Belzegaas, "Or Dictatorial Arsene? Draconian Arsene? Fascist Arsene? Despotic Arsene?"

Arsene liked 'Despotic Arsene'. Somehow it sounded right. It was poetic. It made him sound strong and dangerous. It was easy to rattle off the tongue.

"Despotic Arsene," he agreed.

"Despotic Arsene it is," said Marcus, "We will have the ceremony tonight. Then a trial. Something appropriate, to prove you are worthy of your Name."

The ceremony lasted all night. There were long speeches, swaying and chanting, lots of Arsene standing still in the cold, in the middle of a ritual circle that stood between a crossroad of leylines and made him sneeze and his fur stand on end. After the official ceremony there was wild dancing, drinking vast quantities of mead and strong spirits, music and, mercifully, a huge bonfire. The Uniques had their own song, loud, powerful, fast-paced, like something huge crashing through the undergrowth and ambushing you from behind, pursuing you halfway across the world before cutting you down, something you didn't quite realise was more powerful than it should be and that you won't ever forget the name of again.

The song was called 'You Will Know Our Names'.


	7. Chapter 7

_And you may have heard of me from here to the Eryth Sea_  
 _There's a legend about me in Colony Six, they say I am the reason it fell_  
 _And they know me wide and far, from here to Agniratha_  
 _The Mechonis came for me_  
 _I am I am I am a Unique_

The song still buzzed around in Despotic Arsene's head as he set off the next morning to meet the challenge that had been chosen for him. He hadn't really rested, between the atmosphere of excitement and expectation and the after-effects of heavy drinking and frenetic dancing, which had taken their toll on his small body. He recovered as much as he could while Daedala flew him back to Satorl Marsh. Being hauled up into the air by a Mechon's claws grabbing onto his front paws wasn't his favourite method of transport ever but at least he didn't have to traverse the Mountain again, and he felt relatively refreshed for the task of making his way back to Tephra Cave and doing what he could to affect the war between the Giants and the Arachnos.

Taking out a champion was the only way a single person could really affect the course of a war. Marcus' intelligence had informed him that the champions of the two armies were, conveniently, leading from the front lines in a recent skirmish in Tephra Caves. Reckless Zanden, the Giant leader, was known for his habit of charging into the front lines without ever considering that it would totally break morale if he went down. Firework Geldesia was a particularly terrifying Arachno Queen who loved burning her opponents alive and razing their homes to the ground. At present, Marcus knew that they were very evenly matched, their duel would take forever and many lives would be lost on both sides in the effort to assist their leaders. Arsene was to assist Zanden in taking out Geldesia. The powerful Bunnia should hopefully be enough to tip the scales.

It was a simple plan, except that there had been complications. If the first complication hadn't occurred, if it hadn't slowed Arsene down so much, the second complication wouldn't have happened. He wouldn't have been far too late. But then again, he might have just been on time, dangerously so, and the disaster would have claimed his life too.

The first problem was that the Arachno had intelligence networks as well. As he loped down the road to the Glowing Obelisk, an enormous Arachno Queen jumped down from the top of the Exile Fortress, where the Ignas had their own settlements and mostly left the Bunnits well alone. They had sent Eternal Palsadia herself, the Ignas' Spider Goddess, after him.

He tried to retreat, aware that his mission was time critical, but a large Arachno was faster than a Bunnia and he was soon forced to fight for his life. A fierce battle commenced, leaving Arsene exhausted, dark blood matting his fur from deep lacerations all down his body. Still, finally, he dodged her furiously slicing mandibles, then smashed his mace into the joints of one of her many chitinous legs, sending her off balance. This was the opportunity he needed. Hopping onto her head, he brought his mace down hard on her huge bulbous eyes. After a few blows, the scaled eyes caved in and he stabbed into her skull, sending out a spray of sickly yellow ichor. The Arachno Queen went down. Now slowed by his injuries, without time to really do much to heal himself except roll in some patches of medicinal herbs he spotted on the way, he prayed to the Bionis that the two hotheads would kill each other by the time he arrived and spare him the trouble.

When he arrived, he wished he hadn't said anything.

The caves had gone very quiet. Usually, some creature was making a loud noise about something, probably trying to eat something else that was violently objecting. He couldn't even hear the scuttling of the ever-present and numerous small lizards who lived in the hidden smaller alcoves and darted from rock to rock whenever they saw a Bunnit. The water dripping from the ceiling and the wind whistling through the caverns were deafening in the absence of the sounds of anything more alive. Arsene knew this was a bad sign. Something big had arrived, something dangerous, more so than the Gogols and Arachnos who were pretty much an accepted part of the Tephra Cave food chain these days.

He arrived at the Arachno Queen's Nest to find both Zanden and Geldesia dead on the floor, their followers sprawled around them in a heap of corpses. The air stank of discharged ether of all elements and Arsene saw that both the champions' bodies were covered in stab wounds. He recognised the pattern of the wounds. He had seen a death like this before. He remembered seeing Patrichev, lying in the cloudy red water, suddenly lifeless.

Blinding blue light hit him, knocking him to his feet. He saw what looked like a juvenile female Homs, but with wings on her head like a Nopon's but more majestic, holding out a staff from which flowed seemingly endless ether. He saw the Nopon again, fire billowing from his sharp-fanged maw. He saw the Homs with the blue blade.

Ether didn't take long to dissipate. The spells had been cast recently. They were still in the cave. They had just taken down a Gogol and Homs champion. From the lack of Homs and Nopon blood on the floor, they hadn't even taken many wounds. He was already wounded and exhausted. He ran from the remnants of the nest. He hoped that Bunnitzol had sensed the danger too, and had escaped long before the Great Threat came. He didn't have time to find out. Collapsed tunnels wouldn't stop enemies as powerful as them. He needed to be with his people.

* * *

Despotic Arsene, Holy Emperor of Bunnitdom, felt it when the Bionis turned on its own people. His visions, never pleasant to begin with, became red-tinged and burning, as though the world itself were burning down. Through a haze of pain, he saw only death, the world devouring all life upon its surface, clouds of ether rising to the heavens like souls ascending to the next life. Sometimes his visions went blank and he could tell it was because the Monado itself was faulty, as Abaasy had warned him it might be. A lot of the time he just saw the Great Threat, killing over and over again, mostly not by choice. Then the Telethia came for them, as they came for everything that lived, and the Bunnits fought them off with their teeth and whatever blunt or sharp instruments they could carry and comfortably swing in their tail-hands. Bunnitdom would not fall easily, even if it meant defying the God of their entire world. Being Holy Emperor no longer meant he had a special link to the Bionis. The Bionis was not something sacred and great. He was Emperor because he was strong enough to protect his people from the ravages of the Bionis, because he was cunning and daring enough to feed off its own power and use that power against it.

Some sceptics said that he was Emperor only because all the other candidates kept dying off, either in Bionis or Great Threat-related incidents, or in mysterious circumstances that Arsene was inevitably blamed for. These sceptics subsequently disappeared off the street. Arsene had no time to play stupid games with the media.

Shortly after the Bionis turned on its people, the Mechonis' head exploded. Arsene had been worried that Daedala, who seemed a fairly amiable sort of person, was caught in the blast, but he had in fact been on a rescue mission and had retrieved almost the entire Unique population of the Mechonis. Arsene demanded to know where exactly they were going to go when the Bionis inevitably died too, as they wouldn't all fit on the Fallen Arm. Marcus reassured him that Abaasy had a plan.

He also said that the Great Threat attacked him a few days ago, and the Slobos had barely escaped with his life. Daedala had been targeted too. From what his translation matrix had been able to pick up, they were going after all the Sages in order of strength. It was time for Despotic Arsene to perform his ultimate duty to the Order of Uniques.

Surrounded by his retinue, the Bunnia waited on the hill next to the Nopon Sanctuary for the inevitable battle.


End file.
